


Pebble

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Gandalf, Ficlet, Gen, Pregnancy, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo’s sure that if Gandalf weren’t pregnant, Thorin would fight her until the end of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pebble

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “everything is basically the same except Gandalf is a pregnant woman.” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22729707#t22729707).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s the most tense they’ve been since they first set out. The crackle of the fire is the only noise, save for the whiny of a pony here and there, and the quiet smack of Gandalf’s lips around her pipe. Everyone else is picking carefully at their dinner, eyes lowered. Bilbo’s eaten his fill—as plump as he is, his stomach’s nowhere near the size of a dwarf. Next to him, Gandalf’s finished her meal, and across the camp, Thorin’s brooding, stabbing the chunks of questionable meat in his wooden bowl with entirely too much vigor.

No one says a word. Bofur doesn’t even attempt a song. For once, Bilbo’s in agreement with the dwarves—he can’t believe Thorin fought Gandalf so hard over so stupid a thing. But he’s as stubborn as anyone Bilbo’s ever met, and he _refuses_ to stop and visit the elves, despite Gandalf’s best counsel and Bilbo’s private wishes. If he has to be out on this wild road, he’d at least like to enjoy a good bed again and learn some more well-mannered songs.

Because the silence is silly at best and rude at worst, Bilbo finally musters himself up to break it. He turns to his old friend and asks, “Is the delivery date that soon?” It’s been on his mind all day, and for some time, actually. Gandalf’s stomach was quite distended when she first showed up on his doorstep, but now she looks fatter than a dwarf, though much taller and thinner everywhere else. She blows out around her pipe at his question, then lowers it to peer into the hollowed end.

“It hardly matters,” she answers testily, “because evidently the leader of our fine company expects me to deliver in the middle of the woods.”

Instantly, Thorin’s head lifts. His face drains pale, while Bombur and Glóin, both fathers of their own, gawk at him. Bilbo knows how dwarves are with families and women in particular, being so rare in their culture as they are. Indeed, all the fight goes straight out of Thorin, and he asks, “You’re that close? I didn’t realize...”

“It should be quite obvious,” Gandalf huffs, though as usual, she seems to be perceiving her surrounding friends as smarter than they are. Bilbo, for one, has no idea how to tell when a pregnant woman is ready to give birth. “But this is not about me. When I agreed to help you on this quest, I meant my advice to be as important as any spell, and I tell you again that it would be best for the whole company to seek the protection of the elves.”

Thorin opens his mouth. It’s clear on his face that his first instinct is to argue again, but then he struggles with himself, his cheeks flushing. To Bilbo’s surprise, he settles on, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Do not condescend to me now, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf replies, like scolding a child. “It does no one any good to make this all about the baby, when we have as much need for supplies as it will. Sometimes I feel as though I am the only one in this company with any sense at all. We have emptying satchels and a map that none of us can read, with a perfectly friendly house ahead and a host that knows more about ancient runes than you or I ever will.”

It’s abundantly obvious that if Gandalf weren’t a pregnant woman, Thorin wouldn’t be taking this. But she is, and he doesn’t seem willing to fight her anymore. After a few awkward moments, he grunts, “Fine. We’ll go.”

Gandalf only harrumphs and takes another draw of her long pipe. When she blows out a thick smoke ring, Bilbo bursts, truly meaning well but still immediately wishing he could take it back, “Should you be doing that while you’re pregnant?”

Fortunately for him, Gandalf seems to be reserving all her anger for Thorin. She tells Bilbo only, “I know very well what I should and should not be doing.” And Bilbo leaves it at that.

But his comment’s broken the proverbial ice. The camp is already restless again, the dwarves shifting and muttering to one another as dwarves are wont to do—silence is not at all their usual state. Bofur asks suddenly, “What are you going to name the little tyke?”

Before Gandalf can answer, Nori asks, “Who’s the father?”

And then it’s like the floodgates have opened. Next to Bilbo, Ori asks, “Will it be a wizard baby?”

From Ori’s other side, Dwalin grumbles, “It’ll probably be part elf.”

“It’ll be beautiful either way,” Dori snaps, scowling at Dwalin before beaming at Gandalf, “especially if it inherits its mother’s beard!”

Gandalf doesn’t even need to talk. The whole camp has quickly worked its way into a ruckus, with speculation flying this way and that, Glóin and Bombur’s stories of their own infants, and Fíli and Kíli’s naïve questions. Bilbo is the only one spared from the commotion, and when he turns, he finds Gandalf smiling again around her pipe, and the light’s come back to her eyes. However stubborn dwarves are, she and Bilbo have both grown very fond of them. 

Still, a Dwarven name won’t do at all, and Bilbo suggests quietly, “I’ve always liked the name Belladonna.”

Gandalf chuckles. Then she blows the biggest smoke ring of all and tells him affectionately, “Mind yourself, my dear Bilbo.”


End file.
